


The Bar of Broken Hearts

by OctarineSparks



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drunkeness, Humour, M/M, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:57:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctarineSparks/pseuds/OctarineSparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Sherlock find within each other someone who at least understands the true aftermath of a good wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bar of Broken Hearts

"It's like walking on water and feeling the dampness slowly creeping up your legs. You carry on, ever faithful that the tide will drop once more but before you know it you're up to your neck and about to drown. But you don't turn around, you don't scream. You walk onwards, wanting to be consumed, not caring that you'll be lost beneath the current forever if you don't get out. Because the water is nice, it's exciting, and it's all you want."

"That's what he is," the Doctor slurs to his drinking companion. He's slightly gone but not so much that he's falling down or throwing up. It had been a revelation, certainly, one that had made him want to drink something that made his teeth itch and wax lyrical to strangers. But it would change nothing, he thought, hiccupping slightly and draining the last of his drink. 

"He's still got the missus," he says bitterly. "I love her too, but not in, you know, the watery way." He runs a hand over his eyes, his face a picture of misery. "God, I thought I was done with all this!" he expounds suddenly, angry at himself. "Bloody Rory Williams and his..." The Doctor waves his hand around absently. "Face," he concludes.

"Yes, faces," his companion agrees, staring down into the recesses of his long since empty glass. He lifts it into the air, shaking it to indicate the fact that he would prefer it if it were full up. "John has a face," he grunts, swinging his face around to the Doctor's. "Two, actually."

The Doctor winces, but then he grins stupidly. "Harsh," he says, jabbing a finger into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock sways dangerously on his stool, and then grabs onto his drink for support. Of course, it isn't actually attached to the bar, but that doesn't stop him from exclaiming angrily when it slops over his hand.

"Not harsh," he says, pointing a finger at the ceiling. "Appropriate. He spends all this time, making these... gestures!" Sherlock spits, leaning slightly onto the Doctor's arm. 

"Gestures are the worst," the Doctor mutters sleepily, resting his head on his hand, unaware that the elbow he just propped on the bar had gone straight into the puddle of Sherlock's spilled drink.  
"Hm, yeah," Sherlock says, although he's not quite sure what he's agreeing to. "He killed this maniac for me, for God's sake, on our very first-"

"Date."

"Case."

"Oh."

"Yeah, and you'd think, you'd think, that'd be enough, but then he jumps Mowr... Morea... Morar... Jim, all covered in a bomb and everything and tells me to run!"

"That's lovely," the Doctor says with a grin. "One time, Rory saved me from being shot by a lizard, and ceased to be. Poof! Gone. But I remembered him." He sighs heavily. "Couldn't forget. Wanted to." He indicates to the barman that he too would like another drink, and drums his fingers on the bar with an exaggerated impatience that makes Sherlock snort into his own drink.

"And then this Rory, he got married right?" Sherlock asks, his tone indicating that he already knows that he's right.

"To a woman!" the Doctor shrieks, as though the mere idea is lunacy.

"It's always a woman," Sherlock mumbles, his voice sour and his vision blurred as he looks at the Doctor in triplicate and decides to pick the middle one. "I knew a woman once," Sherlock says, as though he had only just remembered.

"Just the one?" the Doctor asks, sniggering.

"Yes," Sherlock replies, not noticing the implication. "No mystery there. First time I ever saw her she was completely nay-ked," Sherlock says, putting a strange emphasis on the last word that even he doesn't understand the meaning behind.

The Doctor chokes on his drink slightly, raising his non-existent eyebrows. "You're kidding me," he says, laughing.

"No, I don't often do that," Sherlock says, almost as a confession. "But I digress." He pauses, looking at the Doctor through narrowed eyes. "What was I digressing from?" he asks, shrugging his shoulders.

The Doctor shakes his head, before realisation dawns and he puts his drink down on the bar to grab Sherlock by the lapels of his coat. "John something, some guy. There was a bomb," he whispered.

"Where's the bomb?" Sherlock asks, his voice low and rasping as he leans in slightly closer to the Doctor.

The Doctor pulls his shoulders up and shakes his head. "No idea," he says with a laugh.

Sherlock hesitates, looking down at his drink. There is a moment of silence between the drunken pair, and then Sherlock straightens up. "Weddings!" he shouts. "That's the thing we were saying."

"Mmm," the Doctor says. "Dancing. Cake."

"Heartbreak."

"That too."

"So Rory's married," Sherlock says, tipping his glass towards the Doctor. "John's married."

"What a waste," the Doctor says.

"But their wives," Sherlock says suddenly. "They like them."

The Doctor scowls, and Sherlock soon joins in.

"Bloody women," the Doctor huffs, taking a large swig of his drink and holding it in his cheeks before swallowing.

"Not women," Sherlock insists, swaying dangerously. "Wives."

"What's the difference?" the Doctor asks.

"Clothes?" Sherlock replies, and both men dissolve into guffaws of laughter. Then Sherlock composes himself and puts an arm around the Doctor's shoulders, pulling him close as though he is about to impart some terrible secret.

"They chose them," he says earnestly, pointing his finger at the Doctor. "It's hard work, planning a wedding. There's lilac and swans and cousins who hate the bride, all very complicated."

The Doctor draws back slightly, giving Sherlock a puzzled look. "You're not making any sense," he says pointedly.

"I am, listen," Sherlock retorts with a hint of impatience. "It's hard, and boring, but they do it anyway. For love." He spits the word like a poison. "It's two sides of the same coin, right?" he slurs. "On one side you've got bombs and cabbies and... lizards," he acknowledges, toasting the Doctor with his drink. "And on the other you've got morning suits and seating plans and flower arrangements. It's all much of a muchness, right?"

"Except with flower arrangements usually no one ends up dead," the Doctor points out.

"You weren't there," Sherlock immediately replies with a cocked eyebrow.

"And you have to sit back and watch," the Doctor continues, picking up Sherlock's thread and running with it.

"As the person you love-"

"Marries someone else-"

"And you go and get drunk-"

"To forget how much it hurts-"

"But it only makes it worse."

Both the Doctor and Sherlock drain their drinks. "Still," the Doctor says, sliding from his stool. "We'll keep 'em around, won't we?"

"Course we will," Sherlock replies, following the Doctor's example and getting up also.

"Because they make us better," the Doctor says pointedly, jabbing Sherlock in the chest.

"So much better," Sherlock says with a heavy sigh.

"And that's worth all the pain, right?" the Doctor asks, as if he doesn't really know.

"I hope so," Sherlock says, as both he and the Doctor walk towards the door. "Because that tide you were talking about is getting higher, every day. I think I'm going to drown, Doctor. I think perhaps I already have."

"You and me both," the Doctor says, his arm around Sherlock's shoulder, as they slip out into the night.


End file.
